School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 173 --The Sinister Red Glow

Fortunately, Owen’s assault was far from over.

The Seastar Trident spun in the air, then suddenly curved back.

Boswell had just looked up to see a flash of cold light darting towards him, emitting a startled cry as he lifted his wand in defense.

Indeed, he had just drawn his short wand, hoping to show Owen and his companions a splash of color.

The result was the trident, spinning through the air, slicing off the wand’s tip along with his fingers!

Boswell screamed, something slipping from his grasp and falling off the back of the bird.

At that moment, Isaac’s arrow was already on its flight, aimed straight at the strange bird’s wings.

The creature was incredibly agile, flipping in the air with more grace than a kite.

However, Isaac anticipated its maneuvers, and his second arrow found its mark, embedding itself in the creature’s bat-like wing.

The creature let out a loud "caw," wobbling and gliding towards the ground as if it were about to crash.

Owen and Isaac immediately ran towards the location.

But after only a few steps, the bizarre bird suddenly stabilized its form, flapped its wings twice, and executed a ground-skimming flight before gliding behind a tree! Blocked by the tree, Isaac’s arrows were rendered useless, as they could only watch it ascend gradually, soaring into the sky.

It was then the two men realized the creature’s wings could split into upper and lower sections, much like a butterfly’s.

Isaac had damaged the lower section, but it did not hinder the upper section’s ability to function independently, albeit with less agility in flight.

The creature was cunning, knowing well that an immediate ascent would make it an easy target again.

So, it feigned a fall after being hit by the arrow, creating distance from the two men before soaring high once more.

"Ah!" Owen sighed heavily, realizing they could not bring it down.

He dared not pursue too deeply.

It was clear that Boswell was commissioned to attack them, a suspicion confirmed by previous encounters.

Following him could potentially lead them into danger.

Isaac’s face turned beet red, a fortunate disguise afforded by the dense night: "My lord, it is my fault... please, impose whatever punishment you deem fit!"

The strange bird’s cacophonous cries upon ascending seemed like a series of taunts aimed directly at him.

"If punishing you would help, if it could somehow bring those three back, I would indeed impose a severe one!" Owen sighed, "Let’s head back. Bunyon’s place still requires hands."

Berkeley, standing by with a grave expression, dared not join the conversation.

As an arraymancer, his expertise lay in terrestrial combat, not aerial engagements.

Owen, along with his companions, sullenly made their way back.

Passing by the protruding rock, a sudden thought struck him.

Hadn’t something fallen from Boswell when he was hit by the Seastar Trident?

Approaching the spot, he casually released some glow worms and began to search the ground.

Before long, Isaac exclaimed, "Found it, this..."

He picked up an object, spat out in disgust, "It’s Boswell’s severed finger."

What Owen sought was the item that had fallen from Boswell’s hand, seemingly more significant than a mere finger.

Expanding his psychic energy to envelop the surroundings, Owen "saw" a bottle.

He squatted down, parted the grass, and picked up the object, examining it against the light.

"A medicine bottle."

This was the very glass vial Boswell had previously taken out, not even having the chance to uncap it before Owen’s Seastar Trident made its move.

Fortunately, the bottle was robust, landing unscathed with not a single drop of the red liquid inside spilled.

The pitch-dark base of the ravine offered no further clues, so Owen, Isaac, and Berkeley groped their way back to the cliff’s base.

Climbing the rope their companions had left dangling, they made their way back to higher ground.

The return journey was uneventful, marked by a smooth progression.

...

By the time Owen returned to Nebrilliance’s military camp, the place was alight and bustling, the atmosphere far from relaxed.

Extinguishing fires, cleaning up the camp, treating the wounded, detaining and interrogating prisoners, tallying supplies, and exchanging messages with the county office—all these tasks, under Bunyon’s direction, were being carried out with remarkable efficiency.

Upon spotting Owen, Bunyon left the official he was speaking with and approached: "The saint has returned. Did you manage to capture Boswell?"

"No," Owen shook his head, "He escaped again."

Boswell proved to be as slippery as an eel.

"That scoundrel is hard to catch." Bunyon was visibly disappointed but still managed a smile, "The saint has already done more than enough. Without you, Nebrilliance would likely have been our graveyard."

Owen gestured dismissively.

Bunyon continued, "Fortunately, Boswell won’t be stirring up any trouble for a while."

He was aware that after the heavy blow to the Demon Puppeteer, he wouldn’t be a concern for some time.

"The explosion at the tavern earlier... the local county magistrate survived, though he lost a leg. But Lord Timothos..." He sighed deeply, "did not make it."

"Offer my condolences," Owen immediately said.

Timothos and Bunyon, both from the same clan and considered young talents of the mokkind, shared a close bond.

Timothos’s sudden loss was hard for Bunyon to accept and represented a significant setback for the talent-starved Cloud Domain.

"Also, the cavalry from Easthaven Realm that retreated from here had reinforcements halfway, which is why our forces turned back."

After a relentless pursuit for over thirty miles without anyone able to claim the bounty, they returned dejected—

Lord Jeff proved too tough.

However, the Easthaven Realm cavalry suffered heavy losses.

Out of nearly three hundred who came, only about a hundred managed to escape, and more than half of those were wounded.

Upon hearing this, Owen felt even more uneasy: "Reinforcements?"

"We pursued them to Horsewhinny Slope, where over two hundred troops, all strong and well-equipped, ambushed us from the side. We had no choice but to abandon the chase and return," Bunyon said, his expression somber, clearly frustrated with his subordinates’ failure to overcome the challenge.

Owen sensed something was amiss: "These two hundred plus soldiers from Easthaven Realm, where did they come from?"

Clearly, they were not under "Lord Jeff’s" command; otherwise, they would have joined the attack on Nebrilliance with him.

"According to the prisoners, the commander you disarmed, named Mike Jeff, is a guerrilla general under Billbaum. He’s quite renowned, with impressive battle achievements. It was unexpected that he would be defeated by you in a single encounter."

"A pity, that big fish slipped away," Owen remarked, somewhat disappointed.

Mike Jeff’s personal guards were willing to sacrifice everything to ensure his escape.

Owen also had a realization: the ability of cultivators to influence the battlefield was not as strong as one might expect, unless one was a grandmaster.

Master-tier cultivators could not change the outcome of a battle single-handedly.

What mattered more were the soldiers, commanders, and military arrays, with cultivators serving merely as support.

For instance, in this battle, it was challenging for Owen to target Mike Jeff specifically.

With the fire extinguished and the wounded accommodated in nearby civilian homes, Owen saw that there was nothing more for him to do here.

He commandeered a tent within the camp, instructing a rockwolf to guard the entrance, allowing no one inside.

He meticulously sealed the bottom seams of the tent to ensure not even a fly could enter, then, grasping a glow worm, he took out the newly acquired glass bottle to examine it closely.

Upon revealing the bottle, Owen felt an intense craving emanating from within himself, akin to a famished person gazing upon a sizzling, succulent roast lamb leg.

After pondering for a moment without any adverse reactions, he sensed that the red liquid harbored an immense energy, so vast that Owen felt like he was in the eye of a storm, on the verge of being torn apart at any moment.

He quickly suppressed the longing in his body and securely capped the bottle.

"This thing is highly unusual," Owen remarked, holding the glass bottle before his eyes and shaking it back and forth.

The red liquid inside was as viscous as jelly.

The energy contained within was definitely not arcanergy, Owen was certain of that.

It was an unknown type of energy capable of destroying both body and soul.

Owen’s eyelids twitched as he remembered the scene of Boswell feeding this red liquid to a giant ape.

Could it be that this substance was intended for demons?

Storing away the necklace and the bottle, Owen exited the tent and, with the help of the rockwolf, sought out Erin.

Erin was busy treating the wounded in the infirmary, working diligently and more adeptly than the average military medic, earning the affection of many patients.

During her time at the academy, she had studied supportive magic and even potion-making, her skills continually improving.

She had expressed a desire to join the logistics team to Owen.

Initially, Owen had refused, but Erin had insisted, arguing, "Now that I finally have the opportunity to apply my skills, I can treat you promptly should the saint ever get injured."

With his mouth slightly agape, Owen had no choice but to agree.

When Owen found her, she was wearing a bib around her neck filled with nuts, heavily laden with gifts from her patients.

He fished out a few peanuts from the stash, cracking and munching on them as he spoke, "I’ve got a piece of loot, need you to take a look at it for me."

"Of course," Erin didn’t hesitate, even abandoning her current patient.

Internally, Owen remarked, "Truly lacks medical ethics," yet outwardly, he shook his head, "Finish with him first."

"Alright. Just give me a moment," Erin responded.

Owen ended up waiting a full quarter of an hour before Erin emerged from the sea of patients to join him back at the tent.

He recounted the entire episode of failing to capture Boswell but securing the glass bottle, then said to Erin, "Boswell was about to use this on a severely injured demon ape, possibly as emergency aid. Since it’s a medicine, I’ll leave the analysis to you."

Erin’s eyes lit up upon hearing this.

She took the glass bottle, turning it over in her hands like a cherished toy, too engrossed even to spare Owen a glance, "Okay!"

Watching her unapologetically take over the tent, Owen shook his head and stepped outside.

Tonight was destined to be a sleepless one for the humanoids of the Cloud Domain.

Quentin—the third in command of the supply team and one of Bunyon’s confidantes—led a group that found the bodies of the sentries nearby.

This explained why no alarm was raised when Mike Jeff invaded Nebrilliance.

Consequently, Bunyon ordered an increase in the camp’s security measures and intensified the interrogation of the prisoners.

He was eager to learn who orchestrated this operation.

After Quentin returned from pursuing Mike Jeff, he and his men rested by the campfire, drinking water and eating flatbread.

Owen strolled over, offering his flask, "Care for a drink?"

Owen and Quentin were old acquaintances.

When Timothos first approached Owen, Quentin was among those who cared least for his saintly status, frequently approaching him with questions and even seeking advice on combat techniques.

Quentin shook his head, "I’m on guard duty shortly; can’t drink."

Owen then brought up the recent battle, inquiring about the pursuit of Mike Jeff.

Quentin, keeping some distance from his men, lowered his voice, "Beating a dog in the water is one thing, but facing a tough bone is another."

The moment Mike Jeff’s reinforcements arrived, the morale of his pursuers plummeted, "The kind of forces we muster in Cloud Domain can’t stand a chance in the northern battles."

This was a common issue in Cloud Domain, or else they wouldn’t be stuck at the border, unable to make a move because of a single rebellious dragon.

Now that he had been promoted, Quentin felt the urgency of Cloud Domain’s overall situation more acutely.

For Cloud Domain at this moment, raising a battle-ready force was a luxury they could scarcely afford, both in terms of time and resources.

Owen was not surprised by his assessment, "Training takes time. Look around; how many forces are there that get recruited and thrown into battle within days without any chance to drill? Winning a few battles does more good than anything else. It’s about choosing the right opponent."

He admitted he was no war strategist; his comments were offhand.

Yet, at the very least, a troop needs morale, and confidence in battle is indispensable.

He thought of the heroic spirit of the Ambition Army on Heartstealer Island, how imposing and formidable it was.

A deputy came over and said, "More than a hundred of them managed to escape. It’s frustrating how this battle turned out!"

Quentin didn’t like hearing that, considering he was the one leading the team.

He chuckled, "Most of those who got away were wounded, some quite severely. That was Bunyon’s decision!"

Owen just acknowledged with a "Hmm."

The deputy, straightforward by nature, didn’t understand, "What do you mean?"

"We find the people from Easthaven Realm troublesome because their cavalry moves so swiftly and leaves no trace," Owen explained, "Now that they’re dragging a bunch of wounded, they’ll have to figure out a way to care for them, making it easier for them to slip up."

For Easthaven Realm soldiers operating deep behind enemy lines, getting injured and not receiving effective treatment is a significant problem.

Bunyon is indeed cunning.

At that moment, Owen suddenly saw a flash of red light in the distance towards the west.

The glow was not intense, but it was conspicuous enough against the dark night.

What was that?

As he watched, it seemed a few more streaks of red light flashed across, somewhat like lightning, but without leading to any consequences; the surroundings remained eerily quiet.

Owen looked around and noticed a peculiar phenomenon: the surrounding soldiers continued their activities—eating, drinking, chatting—without showing the slightest interest in even glancing in that direction.